


Like Always

by RaeDMagdon



Series: Pharmercy [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Genderqueer, Hurt/Comfort, Magic Strap-on, Rough Sex, SMUTCATION, also really sappy, bionic strap-on, genderqueer Fareeha, minor mentions of dysphoria, pre-mission fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: Scars are ugly things to most people, memories of pain carved into unwilling bodies that are broken, or were once upon a time. Fareeha has several—a streaky bullet wound on her side, a knife wound on her shoulder, a burn below her left hip. But to Angela, they aren’t signs of pain, or even failure. They are evidence of survival, of goodness, a tapestry of bravery and determination written all over Fareeha’s skin.





	Like Always

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Overwatch fic! For those of you who don't know me, I'm Rae D. Magdon, @raedmagdon on tumblr, and I have a looooot more work there on my blog.
> 
> I actually ship WidowTracer a bit more than Pharmercy, but I love Pharah and Mercy a lot and this story was so enjoyable to write. I hope to do more for this pairing soon.
> 
> I want to thank @commander-roastedwolf for their edits. They're amazing. Go read their fic.
> 
> (I also do a lot of Clexa, Korrasami, Mass Effect, and Wayhaught fic.)

Angela loves feeling Fareeha’s scars.

They’re ugly things to most people, memories of pain carved into unwilling bodies that are broken, or were once upon a time. Fareeha has several—a streaky bullet wound on her side, a knife wound on her shoulder, a burn below her left hip. But to Angela, they aren’t signs of pain, or even failure. They are evidence of survival, of goodness, a tapestry of bravery and determination written all over Fareeha’s skin.

That’s why, even though the dropship is close to landing and Fareeha has her pinned flat against the wall, and she’s kissing Fareeha like she’ll die if she doesn’t, Angela’s fingertips linger on them for just a second. Trace them. Try to memorize their outlines one more time. It’s difficult, squirming her hands under Fareeha’s compression suit, the one she wears beneath her armor, but it’s also worth it. Necessary, even. Touching them sustains her in a way that Fareeha’s words simply can’t.

“Angela,” Fareeha whispers. Her breath skims Angela’s cheek, and Angela tilts her head, searching for Fareeha’s mouth again. She doesn’t say Fareeha’s name back, not yet, because if she does, her heart will break, and broken hearts are one thing she can’t heal so easily. It will only be mended after the mission, when Fareeha is warm and solid and alive in her arms.

 _‘No,’_  Angela tells herself. ‘ _Don’t think about that now. Think about this. Think about her hands...’_

Those hands are trying to slip beneath her clothes too, but even through fabric, the heat of Fareeha’s palms is unmistakable. There is fire in them, a fire Angela is all too willing to soak within herself. She needs all she can get, just in case… in case…

Once more, she pulls herself away from those thoughts. They have a few minutes to be selfish. They haven’t run out of time yet. She nips Fareeha’s bottom lip, tugging it with her teeth and hooking a leg around Fareeha’s waist. Fareeha grasps her thigh, grinding into her, and Angela gasps. The bulge that grinds into her pelvis isn’t surprising, but it still sends a shiver down her spine.

So. Fareeha wants that today. She does more often than not, for personal reasons she has only explained with the greatest hesitation. Angela doesn’t care. She’ll take Fareeha any way at all, and if that means using her technological expertise to invent a sensation-transmitting prosthetic… well, what’s the point of being a brilliant medical scientist if you don’t build your lover a nanobiotic strap-on?

It has benefits for her, too—benefits Fareeha reminds her of by sliding both hands under her rear. A moment later, Angela’s in the air, both knees locked around Fareeha’s narrow hips, arms draped around her neck.

“I want to be in you,” Fareeha mutters between kisses. Those six words are enough to set Angela’s blood aflame. Her heart is pounding, but not just with fear anymore. There is pressure between her legs and a coil of desire deep in her belly, and for a few blissful seconds, it makes her forget how afraid she is. How afraid she always is in these moments.

Angela tries to slide a hand between their tightly-pressed bodies, but Fareeha already has it under control. She unfastens her own pants, then Angela’s, and Angela slides her hands under Fareeha’s shirt instead, memorizing the map of her back. There are scars there as well, raised lines she digs her nails into because she enjoys the way it makes Fareeha hiss. She wants Fareeha to think of her when this is over. To remember her touch, her face. Maybe it will give her lover a burst of strength when she needs it most, or remind her to be cautious during a split-second decision in the air.

Fareeha’s low moan sucks her back in. Angela bucks as something warm and blunt glides against her underwear, causing the soaked fabric to shift between her swollen lips. Fareeha’s cock. Her inner walls clench with want and she has to blink the sharp sting from her eyes. Selfish as it is, she needs this reassurance right now, the fullness of Fareeha inside her, stretching her, taking her.

“Inside,” she whimpers beside Fareeha’s ear, kissing behind it, sucking the lobe. “I need—”

Angela isn’t sure how Fareeha manages to keep her up with just one arm and yank her panties aside with the other, but she’s grateful for the minor miracle. She shudders, hissing as Fareeha’s tip glides through her wetness, bumping against her clit once, twice before lining up with her entrance.

She thrusts. Angela screams. Fareeha has filled her in one motion, and her inner walls struggle to adjust. Despite the roughness of her entry, Fareeha’s lips are gentle, skimming her jawline and sucking softly at her neck. She keeps her hips still, although Angela can tell it’s difficult. The small quivers Fareeha makes as she fights against the instinct to move are obvious through such an intimate joining of their bodies.

It doesn’t take Angela more than a few moments. A couple deep breaths, and she’s rocking forward as best she can while pinned between Fareeha’s body and the wall. The movement is a silent permission, and Fareeha takes it as such, withdrawing a few inches before slamming back in.

It’s hard. Rough. Although it isn’t always this way—sometimes it’s tender kisses and sweet words and long hours with Fareeha’s head between her legs—Angela’s glad it is now. This is what she needs. She needs the ache of Fareeha’s cock to last long after they’re done. She needs to remember that both of them are alive, here, together, because in the future they might not be.

“Angela,” Fareeha mutters, licking a trail up along her neck. It’s hot, slick, but the pounding between her legs is hotter and slicker. Angela wraps her legs tighter around Fareeha’s waist, clinging close, doing everything possible to make sure her lover bottoms out. She wants Fareeha deep.

She gets her wish. Fareeha’s rhythm picks up speed, her hips churning like a piston, powerful and seemingly tireless. Angela’s eyes roll back in her head. Sweat sprouts along her hairline and runs down the middle of her back, and her muscles start to tremble. Neither of them will last, which is probably a good thing, since they’re almost at the drop point. Fareeha’s shaft is pounding with fullness, and Angela can’t stifle her yelps every time her clit catches Fareeha’s flat lower belly.

But she doesn’t want it to end. Not yet. Not ever, if she’s honest with herself. At the very least, not before she’s said…

 _“Ich liebe dich,”_ she murmurs into Fareeha’s damp neck.

Once she’s started saying it, Angela can’t stop. It spills from her lips over and over, growing in volume and desperation, until she’s almost sobbing. Fareeha feels so good inside her, and the thought that something this sweet will inevitably end is unbearable.

_“Habibti.”_

Fareeha’s muscles shift beneath Angela’s hands, tensing in preparation. Angela’s I love yous trail off into something else, a plea to the universe as much as Fareeha herself. “Not yet.” Not yet, not yet, not yet. She doesn’t want Fareeha to stop taking her yet. She doesn’t want to get off the ship yet. She doesn’t want to go on the mission yet, to watch Fareeha fly away from her. She wants time to stop and stay in this moment forever, where there isn’t any pain or suffering or…

She can’t think the word.

Fareeha’s pace slows by a fraction. She still pumps hard and deep, but the rhythm is reassuring rather than frantic. It gives Angela time to clench around her, to squeeze down, to enjoy the way Fareeha’s length twitches at the tightening of her inner walls. It gives her enough breath to take Fareeha’s lips again so she won’t keep pleading for the world to stop spinning, and the kiss is enough to fill her bleeding heart—for now.

But it can’t last. Nothing can last, no matter how beautiful or terrible. Fareeha trembles in Angela’s arms, but a look of tense determination tugs the muscles of her face, a subtle hardening of her features. Angela knows why. She recognizes the look. Fareeha won’t let herself come first, but she’s riding the edge.

Angela doesn’t want it to be over, but she wants to please Fareeha more. She isn’t the only one who will need emotional sustenance in the next few hours. She shifts herself just a little, changing the angle slightly so that the head of Fareeha’s cock rams right into her front wall and her clit grinds against the base of the shaft.

It’s more than enough. Angela comes a moment later, not bothering to stifle her cries. Her walls ripple, twitching with each uneven thrust. Fareeha’s rhythm has faltered, but it doesn’t matter. She’s already there, riding her peak, and the unpredictable strokes only cause white flashes in front of her eyes.

But something is missing. The ache within her isn’t satisfied. The longing within her, the hollowness, still pleads to be filled. Amidst the buffeting waves, Angela realizes why: Fareeha is still focused on her, and only her. “Let go,” she begs, mouthing the words against Fareeha’s lips. “Let go for me, Fareeha.”

The moment Angela says her name, Fareeha goes rigid. A groan cracks in her chest, and her hips give a powerful jerk—followed by a hot rush of fluid. Angela spirals again, her release all the more powerful with Fareeha’s warmth flooding her core. This is her favorite part, feeling this strong, brave, beautiful woman come inside her, come apart in her arms.

They both spill and shudder, clutching each other tight, until the ripples become eddies and they’re left, panting into each other’s faces, bathed in sweat beneath their sticky clothes.

“Don’t go,” Angela asks, as she always does.

Of course, Fareeha knows she isn’t talking about pulling out. “Would you stay?”

Angela sighs. No, she wouldn’t. She’s been to places on Earth that make the pits of hell look like paradise. The mission comes first. Helping other people comes first. It’s the same for Fareeha—it’s the reason they were drawn to each other, the unfailing sense of optimism and a willingness to help, despite all the ugliness they’ve seen.

“No.”

Fareeha kisses her forehead. “We’ll go together. Stay close.”

They always do. The two of them are a team, working side by side—and if Fareeha is injured, Angela feels a little better knowing she can help. It is her job, after all, and she’s very good at it.

“Like always.”

“Like always.”

Angela loves Fareeha’s scars. She loves them because they remind her of all times her lover has returned from battle and lived to see them heal—with her help. And if Fareeha gains another scar today, she’ll heal that one too. Just like always.


End file.
